My little bitches

As the saying goes, your child is not giving you a hard time; they are having a hard time. I know that I’m not supposed to admit this, but there are days that I wake up, and quite honestly just don’t want to deal with the bullshit that comes along with being a mom. I wake up tired and touched-out after a long night of breastfeeding. I dread hearing those shrill screams from Millie when Evie wakes her up before she’s really ready to get up. Evie demands so much the second she opens those blue eyes. “I want cereal, I want to watch Octonauts, I want.. I want.. I want..”

Well do you know what mommy wants? I want to finish my coffee, to eat a full breakfast, to read a few more chapters, to finish folding the laundry all you tiny people make. I want just one day when all three of my kids have a good day. I want one day where none of them throw a fit, none of them spill anything, and none of them whine or beg or fight with each other. I want one day where they all blissfully sleep in their own space, away from me, so that I can get something done during nap time. I want one day where they wake up from naps, and are actually rested and happier. I want one day where I can fix dinner, daddy can arrive home on time, and we can all sit down and eat as a family. I want one day where everyone takes a bath, hops in to bed so we can read a bed time story, and then goes to fucking sleep.

BUT, all of this is so far from the reality of life with a 4-year-old, 19-month-old, and 7-month-old. The reality is I’m lucky if just one kid has a nice day, if one kid has a nice half day even. Kids aren’t meant to “have nice days”. They would never learn anything, or understand anything better. It’s hard on our end to remember that they are people, doing everything for the first time. Yes, they’ve put on their shoes 1,000 times, but something about that day I’m sure is new, even if it’s a subconscious level of anxiety they have and don’t know how to express yet. As children, especially babies and toddlers, grow they are challenging us and themselves so they can grasp at a better understanding. It takes time to shape something out of clay, just like that process; they are trying to shape themselves. The only way to know something works for you is to test out your theory.

I think that our kids are little bitches, not because they mean to be, but because to them I am a huge asshole.

To them, I am someone who takes them places they don’t always want to go, forces them to try and go potty when they really don’t have to, picks each meal they eat, tells them when they have to be tired and when they have to wake up. I can just imagine spending a day in their place, having Sean wake me up one morning.

“Julie, it’s time to go potty, you don’t want to have an accident.”

“Julie, get dressed, now. No, it’s not time to read or write, it’s time to get dressed.”

“Julie, here is your cereal. No, you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”

I think that’s about as far as we’d make it before I’d kick him in the shin. On top of that sense of frustration and lack of control, imagine having no way to communicate to your puppet master how you feel.

Yesterday, well every day, Millie was being awful. She has been so different since her little sister arrived seven months ago. Millie was so sweet, full of smiles and giggles. Now, she is still sweet, still full of smiles and giggles; but she is also a full on monster. One minute you’re laughing and playing, the next she runs at you with her chubby little finger pointed out at you like a sword piercing your soul. Now you must endure the wrath of the rage monster that is this adorable toddler. She is no doubt having a hard time being the middle child. She went from being the baby, to having a baby sister at just one year old.

I admit that most days, I don’t get to focus on just her very often. I trust that my genuine exhaustion at the end of each day means that I’ve done all that I could. I try so hard to include each of them in some way in what we are doing, but just like everything else that makes me the asshole to them, I can’t give her my undivided attention all the time; and she hates that. I can see how being the middle sister has already started to shape her personality. She is so goofy, always climbing in things and trying to make people laugh.

She is so young, but I know she is doing it on purpose. She gets herself into these funny situations and then waits for someone to see. As soon as they laugh with her, she moves on to some other way to grab someone’s attention.

I have to remind myself each morning when I wake up cranky, that while I joke that the girls are little bitches, I am the mom and they are the kid. I am the one who can look at the big picture and realize they are learning. I have no control over their minds; I can only guide them to be good people. The control I have lies within me. I have the control to wake up early and spend some quality time alone. I have control to seek out the help of a babysitter to allow myself a break. I have control to use resources in my community like child watch at the local YMCA so I can exercise (shower uninterrupted…). I can call my sisters and tell them that Millie is a bitch and mean to me. I can work a little harder, push myself a little more, snuggle instead of clean, and order take-out rather than cook. They are only little for a little while. I need to spend these years building up my strength. I’m sure if I think they’re little bitches now, 10 years from now they will be angels, right?